Albuquerque to New York
by Grav
Summary: Albuquerque to New York is less than 7 per cent of the distance around the world. It was the hardest trip I’ve ever taken. Post ep for 1969. SJ


AN: I took quite a few liberties with this story. Actually, that's not entirely true. I fabricated back story like no tomorrow for this story. Basically, "1969" left me with a question that never got an answer, so I made one up.  
  
For purposes of this story, Jack was born in 1950, and is thus 19 in 1969. Also, in the script for 1969, they never tell Michael and Jenny their names, so am I operating under the assumption that they used aliases, to protect the timeline. And yes, I know they went to Washington, but New York just sounds so much better.  
  
Category: Angst? Oh my, yes. S/J? Well, um, yeah.  
  
Dedication: The Usual Suspects, but mostly SG who wanted a story where he calls her Samantha, and so_close, who betaed.  
  
Spoilers: 1969, obviously, but this is a future fic, so everything is fair game.  
  
Disclaimer: A haiku....  
  
These characters I  
  
Do not own, nor the premise.  
  
And yet, life goes on.  
  
Summary: Albuquerque to New York is less than 7% of the distance around the world. It was the hardest trip I've ever taken.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
She ran the brush through her long hair, and marveled again at how novel it still seemed. For so many years she'd worn it short because she didn't have the time (or, to be honest, the talent) to put it up every morning. It was no longer golden, but it had not become grey either. As blonde is wont to do, her hair had merely lightened with age, not lost its pigmentation completely. When coupled with her eyes, it gave her an eternally youthful aura.  
  
Naturally, this annoyed him to no end. His hair had already reached the salt-and-pepper stage when she met him, and it had been grey for years.  
  
"Whatcha doing?" came a voice from behind her. She smiled, a little because it was plainly obvious what she was doing, but mostly because he removed the brush from her fingers and kept doing it.  
  
"Wondering," she replied.  
  
"About what?"  
  
"There were a lot of things about the SGC I still didn't understand when I retired." She said. "Where Daniel hid his coffee, what the SFs did all day if there were no unscheduled wormholes, little things like that. But mostly about the planets we never got to go back to."  
  
"You mean places like Euronda?"  
  
"Euronda, Kheb....and Earth."  
  
"I'm pretty sure we went back to that last one."  
  
"I know." She smiled. "I meant 1969. I've always wondered what happened to Michael and Jenny. Do you?"  
  
The brush froze and withdrew, and she heard him set it down on the dresser. The dresser matched the bed and the vanity at which she sat. The whole set had been a present from the Tok'ra, and they had shared many laughs over how odd it was that aliens would buy them furniture. She was pretty sure her father had been behind it; it was his sort of humour.  
  
"No," he said shortly. "I never wonder what happened to them. I know."  
  
He turned and walked to the bed. She stood up and followed him. She loved that it was not his bed or her bed. She loved that it was their bed.  
  
"You looked them up when we got home? I tried, but we never got a last name, so it was a bit of a challenge."  
  
He sat down on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. Concerned, she too sat and reached out to wind her arm through his.  
  
"No. I didn't look them up."  
  
"The how?"  
  
"Michael was drafted into the army and sent over to Vietnam almost right away. His company was in a hot zone and he practically ate a land mine on one of his patrols. Several of his company were injured in the blast, and an Air Force team came in to evacuate them to a military hospital. When they parachuted in, Michael was in bad shape. He'd lost a lot of blood and his legs were a mess. He was dying. When the airman reached down to check his dog tags, Michael grabbed his arm and said 'Find Jenny. Tell her I love her.'"  
  
"What happened then?"  
  
"I said yes."  
  
"Oh Jack." As remarkable as it was to have long hair, it was even more so to sit on their bed and call him by his given name.  
  
"So I went and found Jenny when I got back to the States, and I held her hand while she cried. I left my number in case she needed to talk. Talk became coffee, coffee became dinner, dinner became movies, and after the appropriate amount of time had passed, and we had finished growing up, she became Sara Jennifer O'Neill. My wife."  
  
Now it was her turn to freeze. He felt it right away, of course, and wove his fingers into hers. She looked up at him, and he could see her blue eyes bright with questions. He smiled sadly. Now, there was nothing to stop him from sitting on their bed and running his hand down her delicately lined face.  
  
"Sara told me a story once," he continued, "About the summer before Michael shipped out. They'd driven across the country and picked up these crazy hitch hikers who claimed to be aliens. And I thought it was a funny story. Right up until Teal'c jumped out of that ditch and stopped the bus."  
  
"Jack," she said quietly, hesitantly, "What were you going to tell him? When I cut you off."  
  
"I don't know." His shoulders shook. She took him in her arms and her long hair fell forward over her shoulder and across them both. "Part of me wanted to scream 'Go to Canada!', but then I remembered how happy Sara and I were, and how much I loved Charlie. If I hadn't lost him, I never would have gone to Abydos, never met Daniel, never been involved in the SGC at all. But, I couldn't help but wonder. . ."  
  
"It was the right thing to do."  
  
"That doesn't make me feel any better."  
  
"I know."  
  
"God, Albuquerque to New York is less than 7% of the way around the world. It's not even in the top 100 of long trips I've taken. But seeing them everyday? Having them help us? I've done a lot of tough things in my life, but that was the hardest. She might have been happy with him."  
  
"And she might have been miserable." She cut in quickly. "There's no way to tell."  
  
"Do you think there's a universe out there somewhere where he didn't go? Or where he came home?"  
  
"There's one for almost everything else."  
  
He lay back on their pillows, pulling her with him into their bed surrounded by her long hair and ignored his own creaking joints. He could call her Samantha. And everything was worth it.  
  
"At the end of the day, I think I like this one after all."  
  
"It's where we are. It's the choices we made. It's who we are."  
  
"I'm battered and bruised and I have too many scars."  
  
"It's who you are, Jack. And I love you."  
  
"I love you too, Samantha. I love you too."  
  
* * * * * *  
  
AN: OK, Jack O'Neill is a pain in the neck to write. But he's just so much fun I can't leave him alone. Also, it's really hard not to tack a "sir" on the end of everything Sam says. Habits dying hard and all. 


End file.
